


LOG 49

by noero



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Bottom Keith (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Paladin-Lion Bonds, Red Bayard Scene, Red Paladin Lance (Voltron), Through S3, Voltron Lion to Paladin Psychic Bond, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:29:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noero/pseuds/noero
Summary: They’re home, they’re family, and Lance's hands are shaking.   [Alternate Canon set between Ep 1-4 of S3.]





	LOG 49

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started writing more than a year ago, but got shuffled to the back burner. I woke up earlier this week and decided I liked it again. Title is a nod to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 49. 
> 
> Thank you to [lemonistics](http://lemonistics.tumblr.com/) for reading through my very ugly rough draft and finding my typos and weirdness. ❤

The first time Shiro hugs him, Keith is barely fourteen, forgotten, and angry about it. It’s the first time in seven years someone has held him with purpose, with any ounce of _meaning_ behind it. For a second he’s insulted by the feeling of being cared for when he’s worked so hard to not care. And somehow Shiro dissolves that, easily and with a patient smile. No matter where they end up, Keith never feels too far from that moment. 

Even though they’re so far now. He can't let that moment go.

“I didn’t hate it,” Keith says, his voice like sand the way it slips through the air. He thinks back on all the places he's lived. “It was just another place. An empty room.”

Shiro frowns but doesn’t speak right away, letting the words settle. They stand together in the empty castle control room, the others fast asleep. Keith’s body is turned just slightly, aware of Shiro in his peripherals, and arms folded over his chest.

“But you don’t want to go back.” Shiro says then, and it’s not a question.

Keith shrugs and frowns at the window, unperturbed by Shiro’s unvoiced fears. His face soft, quiet as a whisper, probably wondering what Keith sees out there. Perhaps he harbored some fantasy, deep down where no one could find it. A fantasy that they could go home and it would almost feel the same as it did once before, his restlessness buried too deep to matter.

That had been Keith’s peace. 

  


* * *

  


Tranquility is overrated.

Being Galra instills Keith with a degree of violence. Rage is long-familiar to Keith, an oft-used emergency exit. His life line. Anger gives him the illusion of control, as though he has a say in things, and he’ll throw punches until his hands bleed. If it lends control, or the feeling of control. The thing about that control is it’s never safe, least of all to himself, and where there is no security there is no real control. This is a double-edged sword.

Keith is mad for a long time when Shiro disappears but he’s not sure how long that is. The team begins avoiding him by the time he’s snapped at each of them half a dozen times.

Keith is fast, but the Gladiator is a little faster. Two minutes in, the simulation catches Keith’s ankles and swipes his legs out from under him. His back hits the metal floor and pain shoots along his spine, the wind knocked from his lungs as his bayard crashes off to the side and out of reach.

“End sequence,” he chokes, the knife only centimeters from his throat before the gladiator dissolves.

He’s barely caught his breath when the low whistle catches his attention on the other end of the room. He twists toward its source, mood already soured, to find Lance lounged against the far wall with arms folded over his chest and cocky smile firmly in place. Who knows how long he’s been watching.

“Not gonna lie, man. For a hot second there, really thought I was gonna have to drag your bloody corpse out of here and explain the tragic loss to Allura. Sure she’d hate to find out her favorite paladin bit the dust from a bout of his own stupidity.”

“I’m not—” Keith sighs, too tired to argue. He pulls himself of the ground with a groan, frowning deeper as Lance saunters straight toward him. Everyone else has the wherewithal to leave him alone. “What do you want, Lance?”

“Nothing,” Lance shrugs and hands him a bottle of water. He cringes when Keith opts to pour it over his face instead of drinking it. Keith takes it as a win. 

“Anyway,” Lance crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you turned the safety off, Chief. Someday that’s gonna catch up with you and I, for one, do not want to be here to witness your untimely end.”

“Helps keep me focused.”

“Yeah. Focused on everything but us, right?”

Keith blinks at that but by the time his brain catches up to the jab, Lance’s attention has already turned to calling up a different training simulation. He winks at Keith before calling his rifle. All is forgiven it seems. “So, Golden Boy. How many rounds you go before dying today?”

“Five.”

Lance tsks, shaking his head. “Geez. Losing your touch my man. Is the sudden pressure to perform killing your stamina?”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, dude, I think they have pills for that. Fix you right up,”

Keith rolls his eyes and turns to leave.

“Hey! So six kill shots and I get lead on next mission, right?”

“Yep,” Keith calls over his shoulder. “Don’t let your performance anxiety distract you. I know it’s difficult to get going when you’re following after me.”

He doesn’t bother to turn around and see Lance flipping him off.

  


* * *

  


Keith tells himself he has everything under control.

Nothing is under control.

He sneaks off while Hunk and Pidge are pulling surveillance from an abandoned Galra outpost. He needs to stay busy and gathering intel is boring. There may be something for them outside, he reasons. 

So he does what he wants. When he rounds the empty building an automated sentry drone comes after him, activated by a sensor. He’s thrown up against the wall, the force knocking his shoulder out of its socket. A weight falls on top of him, metal and sharp, and white-hot panic rises in his chest. Something slams against the side of his head and he swings his good arm blindly, thrashing and wondering why he always has to do all of this alone. He doesn’t have time for this, none of this. This mission is pointless anyway.

A rush of air flies just past his face and the weight on his chest is gone. He turns and sees, Lance found him. He shakes a little, spitting blood on the ground and grabbing at his shoulder. But Lance is staring at him, a touch of fear in his wide eyes. Keith glances down at himself, looking for more blood and signs of broken bones. Was the hit harder than it felt?

And Lance speaks, unease in his voice. “Your eyes…”

“Huh?”

Lance shakes his head, assuring Pidge and Hunk over the comms that everything is fine but they’re heading back to the lions. He runs to Keith’s side, helps him up and they’re off. Keith’s ears ring a little bit.

“It was nothing,” Lance murmurs and Keith feels more confused. He nods to Lance anyway. “You were just lookin’ a little feisty there for a minute.”

  


* * *

  


When the team decides to move on, Keith puts on a good show. They’re trying, he reminds himself, and does his best to not let their general indifference cloud his judgement on them. Keith is composed though. He understands and Allura is right. None of that means he has to be happy about it. And if he wants to wallow in self-pity for a few more hours? Well.

Now alone in a shadowy side of the castle, knees folded in front of him, Keith digs a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He’s only got a few more left, the last remnants of a half-empty pack that’d been burning a hole in his pockets ever since they left Earth months before.

He tips his head to the side and struggles to get his lighter ignited, the cigarette held still between his lips. He'd technically stolen the lighter out of Shiro's jacket pocket when he was just thirteen, but that was beside the point. He uses it seldom enough that it still works but most of the fuel has evaporated over the years. He has another one, a better one, but he likes this one.

He slumps a little as the end of his cigarette flares bright red, comfortable in the quiet. He found a spot here, tucked between glass and metal, relaxing until some of the tension eases from his shoulders. He inhales, letting the smoke burn until it was gone, doing it all over again.

A shuffling on the opposite end of the room catches his attention and he sighs, taking another hard drag while keeping his eyes focused on the space ahead of him.

“So this is where he ran off to,” Lance shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes darting between the empty cryopods. “Kinda creepy choice... but I don’t judge. Whatever gets your rocks off.”

“They’re empty,” Keith replies, tired. “No one comes down here.”

It’s not an invitation but Lance walks over and slides down on the wall next to him anyway. Keith resists the urge to pack himself up and move to the other end of the castle. He came here to be alone. Yet somehow he can’t bring himself to reject Lance’s company, not when Lance is the one who extends his hand. He can’t, even if Keith can’t understand why. Even if the ground beneath them is so shaky. Even if Lance’s presence sets him on edge. Even if they’re barely friends.

What Keith can do is hold his ground. Keith grunts, flicking ash off onto the pristine floors. Coran will lecture him in the morning. “Can I help you Lance?”

“You know we hate it when you get all moody.”

Keith scoffs at that, like Lance isn’t a hundred times worse, but he’s too exhausted to argue. He swallows another mouthful of smoke. 

“That stuff’s gonna kill you, by the way. Not sexy at all.”

“We’re all gonna die,” Keith mumbles, and extends the cigarette toward Lance.

For a second Lance just narrows his eyes and frowns at it, considering. Keith studies him, watching him work through something in his brain, the cogs turning in his eyes. Must be difficult for him. Keith starts to pull back and as expected, Lance immediately plucks the cigarette from Keith’s fingers, regarding it with both suspicion and disdain before flicking his gaze back to Keith. “Way to think positive, man.”

He takes one drag, makes a face, and shoves it right back toward Keith. “Ugh. I don’t get it, dude.”

Keith snorts, places the cigarette back between his lips and rests his elbows on his knees. “I miss Earth,” he says and he doesn’t know why he says it. He’s not sure if it’s even true. But the words catch Lance’s attention and he’s looking at Keith now with wide, curious eyes. That was a nerve. Keith swallows, glancing up at the rafters high on the Castle ceiling to avoid his face. “I don’t miss everything,” he clarifies. “I miss being outside. I miss the desert. I miss my speedster.”

More ashes fall to the ground. Lance doesn’t say anything, which makes Keith anxious. He’s quiet, and a quiet Lance is a Lance Keith doesn’t know how to deal with. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling and he’s aware then just how close Lance is to him. He slides an arm around Keith’s shoulder so their bodies are comfortably warm against each other. More ashes fall. Keith stiffens, taken by surprise. Lance loosens his grip as a courtesy but the arm stays draped across Keith’s shoulder and Keith doesn’t push it away.

“It’s OK,” Lance says, and his voice sounds worn. The softness there makes Keith’s shoulders tremble. “I know you miss him.”

Keith bites his lip and pretends tears aren’t forming in the corner of his eyes.

  


* * *

  


He doesn’t bother to say goodbye to the Red Lion. He doesn’t like saying goodbye. He tells himself Red is waiting for him anyway, that this will resolve itself and everything will go back to how it was. Eventually. This is the same stupid lie he’s told himself since he was eight. He’ll hand it to himself, he’s pretty convincing.

After Allura returns from the Red Lion’s hanger, eyes rimmed with fresh tears, there’s not much he can do. So he accompanies Pidge to barter for supplies in a nearby market while they wait for more news on Lotor. He likes getting away from the castle. Big as it is, he feels stagnant there. He likes to be outside.

She bounces excitedly between vendor stalls, distracted by every bizarre piece of equipment she finds. Keith focuses on what they’re there for, namely fruit and vegetables, and he picks up anything that looks remotely earth-like. Pidge doesn’t care much about small talk and Keith likes that about her. He likes that she’s willing to let him get the job done with minimum fuss.

He wonders if she’s found any new information on her family and thinks he should probably ask her. Then he thinks about snapping at her a week earlier and frowns.

“Do you, uh, need some help with that?”

“Nah,” Keith settles the bag of privisons on his shoulder, shaking his head. Pidge looks a little abashed, realizing she hasn’t technically been focusing on their assigned task. “I got it.”

Before they head back, Keith buys her something that has her eyes gleaming the moment she sees it. It’s small enough to fit in her hand. It’s metal, flat, square, and it lights up when she grabs it off the vender’s table. He has no idea what it is or what it does, but it makes her smile.

  


* * *

  


Beneath the haze of early morning, an hour before the Castle’s ambience lighting switches over to signify daybreak, Keith crawls into Lance’s bed. He’d never think of doing this sort of thing without the cover of darkness, shadows consuming any dwindling opportunity for hesitation.

The nebulous memory of Lance’s hand weighing on his shoulder is the only justification Keith digs up for himself. They both have plenty of experience with making bad wagers but Keith considers Lance the lowest risk. Whatever happens, he and Lance can return to the status quo. Keith refuses to stand still. Life tends to close doors if you wait too long.

So it's only a thin lapse in judgment that Keith’s wandered all the way into Lance’s bedroom, placed a knee on the mattress, and a hand upon Lance’s arm with only the faintest idea of what he wants. This is an incredibly stupid idea, but the safer bet than seeking out anyone else.

All the same he freezes, blood pounding in his ears, when Lance blinks up at him with tired eyes. His half-lidded gaze is dark, foggy, and thoroughly confused. Keith’s heart stutters for a terrifying second, sure Lance will knock him straight off the bed and Keith can’t even argue that he doesn’t deserve it.

The terse silence passes and Lance yawns, relaxing even as he struggles to see Keith’s face in the dark. “Mm. Y’couldn’t sleep? You have a nightmare or something?”

“No,” Keith lies, swinging his other leg into the mattress. In sleep, Keith’s dreams are too honest, replaying all the truths Keith doesn’t want to accept. The Black Lion was wrong to choose him and his trust in Lance only goes so far. This, however, is acceptable territory. Keith knows Lance won’t stay mad. “Move over.”

Lance narrows his eyes before accepting defeat with a dramatic sigh, too tired to put up a fight. He shifts onto his side so he’s facing the wall and Keith quietly slips beneath the sheets behind him. They don’t speak again after that.

Where Lance was lying only seconds before the mattress is warm and Keith trembles as he curls himself there, forehead barely touching the nape of Lance’s neck just above the collar of his pajamas. The bed smells like Lance, different than anything Keith is used to but warm, welcoming, and almost familiar.

Keith doesn’t want to sleep. He only wants to hear someone’s breathing, to calm his own heartbeat, to feel a little less scared. He doesn’t want to think about how he goes searching for Shiro each day and dreams of finding him each night.

The problem is that Keith knows, if Shiro is there somewhere amid the scattered debris, his body is all Keith can find. That truth that Keith denies himself is spoken clear when he’s asleep. Not finding Shiro is then what gives Keith hope.

In that calm, Keith lets himself be just a little bit bold. He curls a hand over Lance’s hip and holds his breath when Lance tenses beneath the contact. Then just as quick as it came, Lance’s breathing calms and his shoulders drop with each intake of air.

Keith closes his eyes and promises himself not to dream.

  


* * *

  


When Keith finally climbs down from the Black Lion’s cockpit, Lance is sprawled out beneath him, back flat against the lion’s claws and yawning. Waiting. Lance already takes his role so seriously, so earnestly, that Keith has to push down the way that gratitude flutters in his chest.

He clears his throat, grabbing Lance’s eyes. He watches Lance shift from relief to caution. Keith frowns. “Been here waiting since we got back?”

Lance shrugs, easy and careful. “Didn’t want to intrude. Figured you had to come out some time.”

Keith nods. He’d sat there for half an hour, coming to terms with the damage he nearly caused in chasing Lotor right into a trap. He thought about how he’d ignored every good piece of advice he’d been given. He’s never been more lost as to what Shiro saw in him than he is right now. Staying holed away in the Black Lion had given him some level of comfort.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes focused somewhere beyond Lance. 

“No, man. We’re good,” Lance waves him off with an awkward laugh. If he catches the disconnect in Keith’s voice, he plays it off well. He pulls himself off the floor, dusts off his armor and meets Keith’s gaze. He looks a little sad, Keith realizes, and his eyes shift back to the ground. “You might owe Allura a small apology though.”

“Fair point,” Keith sighs and an uncomfortable silence falls over them. He feels less grounded all of a sudden, something threatening to spiral out of control. Red is stills swimming in his peripherals and Keith realizes what he forgot. “You— I think. You’re gonna—” Keith makes a frustrated noise and calls the Red Bayard. But when he holds it out, Lance only stares at it. “Do you want it or not?”

Lance takes it like it’s something delicate, something important. He turns it around in his hands, eyeing it with an odd touch of awe before turning pensive. Keith is about to say something else, unnerved by how Lance is looking at it, unsettled by how Red’s energy overwhelms him.

Then Lance looks at him again, his brows drawn and lips tight. His hand falls to his side with the bayard still in his grasp and seemingly forgotten. “Hey. _You’re_ still doing OK, right?”

Keith frowns. “Of course I am. Why-”

“I don’t want you going off and getting all weepy and scared the moment you goof something up, like you just did when things went a little sideways out there—”

“I wasn’t _weepy_.”

Lance smiles softly, a hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. The knee-jerk, instinctive need to be defensive and combatant washes away in instant. Keith swallows, looking away. “Yeah. And thanks.”

“It’s, uh. It’s cool, man. Don’t sweat it.”

They go quiet again. This is harder than it should be. Keith hasn’t looked back up when Lance’s hand lands on his shoulder. Again with this. Keith looks back to him, the gentleness of this moment weighing down on him.

“So um,” Lance squeezes his shoulder lightly. “You know I got your back, right?”

Keith wants to say something, is ready to speak, but Lance takes one step into his space and the hand on his shoulder is suddenly an arm around his back. The hug is every bit as awkward as the first, and the pressure Lance gives is cautious, gentle, and slow. Probably because Keith just stands there, stupidly, with his arms glued to his side. He knows Lance will pull back unless he moves. For some reason, he doesn’t want that so he tilts his head forward, nose against the top of Lance’s chestplate and bangs catching on his collar.

Lance pulls him tighter then, the stiffness giving way to something warm. Something safe. Something wholly terrifying. His hand moves to Keith’s head, fingers threading down through his hair in a gentle motion. Something catches in his throat when Lance turns his face just a fraction, breath fanning across Keith’s cheek.

Early in their blossoming friendship, Lance asked Keith a very simple question, but one weighted with too much misunderstanding. He asked if Keith ever thought of home, conversational and light, as though the answer could only ever be one thing. He asked in the way someone asks about the weather or what you’re doing next weekend. Lance could afford to be foolish like that.

Keith's own memories of Earth flicker somewhere between an unidentified sense of nostalgia and detachment. Lance asks him about home and that means something very specific to Lance. Home is familiar voices, familiar touches. Those fleeting memories that Lance covets -- selfishly, stubbornly -- mean nothing to Keith. They are only memories no different than the ones from yesterday. Sometimes it's easy to understand why, despite how they’ve learnt to work together, that it’s hard for them to exist in the same space. Keith is an immovable force to Lance’s infinite inertia.

He questions it all. Lance’s hand leaves his hair to graze the back of his neck, gloved fingers brushing along the skin above the collar of his flight suit. Then he presses his lips to Keith’s temple. The gesture is distinctly comforting, like a steady hand at his back, and that warmth settles deeper in Keith’s bones. The progression feels natural even though it shouldn’t. Then Lance kisses his forehead, nose buried in Keith’s bangs as he mouths silent assurances against Keith’s brow. This is the type of comfort you give a child when they’ve skinned their knee. But here, this minute is static, time forgotten between billions of needle-sharp stars, so many light years from home. Keith doesn’t have time to contemplate what any of this means. The next one falls on his cheekbone, a gentle pressure right below his eye where unhinged tears wait to fall. They’re home, they’re family, and Lance’s hands are shaking.

They both pause there, foreheads pressed together and heavy breath puffing out in the tiny space between them. Keith realizes then that Lance doesn’t intend to stop. His hazy, wondering eyes meet Keith’s and the unasked question hangs still in the air.

Keith nods, just one soft tilt of his chin, and Lance doesn’t hesitate. The kiss is desperate in a slow, agonizing way, like treading water just before the current pulls you under. Keith tastes blood, hears the sharp intake of air, and his hands reach up. He curls his own fingers around the base of Lance’s neck. In an instant, everything is different.

The bayard clanks against the ground, threatening to break the spell, but no sooner does it fall than both of Lance’s hands tug at Keith’s hair. Untethered. Dauntless. Hungry. The haze passing over them barely melts, only a small patch of clarity, before Keith sinks his tongue past Lance’s lips and his back collides the solid frame of the Black Lion with Lance’s body pressed sharp against his front.

He makes Keith feel like he can do this, even if he doesn’t understand why.

When the moment passes, they part and fall into silence. Keith stares, brows drawn together. For a second Lance looks affronted, like he doesn’t even remember he’s the one who instigated it. He’s embarrassed. The adrenaline wanes, the stress of not being able to keep up with their enemy fading enough that they can breath. The room shifts back where it belongs.

He stands perfectly still as Lance grabs the bayard, mumbling an awkward thanks, before slipping out of the Black Lion’s hanger. Keith stands there and stares.

  


* * *

  


“You’re doing everything you can.”

Allura frowns, her eyes avoiding Keith’s gaze. Keith should say more to her, he knows he should, but the words sleep on his tongue. She draws in on herself and that soft, regal quality of how she carries herself flutters away for one quiet moment. There’s something in the way she looks at Keith — and the way she looks away— whenever Shiro’s name comes up that settles like a stone in Keith’s stomach. She’s distant. Wary.

_Keith, I know exactly how you feel._

“If we’re losing battles, losing lives,” She says, voice wavering around the edges of her words. “What I _can_ do is not nearly enough.”

Keith is the one who can do more. He doesn’t. Not everything can be saved. In the lines of her face, the sharp edge of her brow, she blames herself. Keith does know how that feels. He knows better than anyone. But instead of opening that chasm - the gaping holes they are both so quick to fill with anger - Keith stays silent. He just stands there, quiet and far enough that he can’t take her hand. She frustrates him.

_Keith, I know exactly how you feel._

“Princess?” They both turn to Lance’s voice from the doorway. His eyes land on Keith, something odd settling in his expression before focusing back on Allura. “So we’re, um, getting ready to eat. If you’re not too busy?”

She smiles at Lance, warm and full of life. Keith feels forgotten and angry about it. He doesn’t know why.

“Of course,” she says, voice warmer than it was seconds before. “We will be right down, Lance.”

_Keith, I know exactly how you feel._

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know how he feels.

  


* * *

  


When they lay together, things feel okay. Lance doesn’t say anything about Keith coming to his bed. He turns on his side and makes room for him. They lie down back to back.

It takes this long for Keith to realize Lance’s touch lingers on his skin. The ghost of his fingertips play over Keith’s jaw, over his shoulder, in his hair, and the memory of that moment in the hanger is so strong that Keith can feel it on his calves, down his stomach, and up his thighs though Lance’s touch has never once wandered there.

He lies still and straight as an arrow in Lance’s bed thinking about every dangerous thought he can, safe under cover of darkness. He stares at the wall, and Lance’s breathing behind him slows, gets deeper, heavier but Keith’s heart rate goes higher, faster, more irregular. He can’t sleep. He shifts to his back, stares instead at the ceiling. His head is warm. Cloudy.

He bends one knee and takes a deep breath. He extends his arm and runs the back of his hand between Lance’s shoulder blades. The touch is barely anything but Lance stirs, dropping his shoulder just an inch toward Keith but still not waking. He watches Lance now, the rise and fall of his shoulder, tracing the back of his hand further down his back, following the curve of his spine, dipping beneath the blanket—

Lance murmurs, “You have eyes… like Galra…”

Keith stops, still as a stone. He hisses, “ _What?_ ”

Lance makes a frustrated noise, all slurred by sleep. He turns all the way over and curls up with his nose buried against Keith’s shoulder. “When you’re scared,” he continues, voice quiet and groggy. Vaguely annoyed. “Mm. Like. Really scared. Your eyes. Like Galra. Glowing.”

Keith frowns, his extended arm is now pushed back between them and over his own stomach. Lance is quiet again, breathing slow back in sleep. Keith has no idea what that means.

  


* * *

  


“You like hanging out with Lance these days, don’t you?”

Pidge is over-perceptive. Keith doesn’t like that about her as much. “No. We’re just - I dunno - working stuff out. Not a big thing.”

“No one’s judging you,” Hunk pipes in from the other side of the kitchen. “Well, maybe a little. But Lance is a lot more fun if you just decide to like him. I say go for it.”

Pidge waves a hand dismissively, eyes obscured by the glare of her laptop monitor, cradling her bowl of breakfast-goo protectively above the keyboard. She looks like she didn’t sleep. “Keith. We want you to keep paying attention to him. We love Lance and all, we do, but he’s out of our hair when he’s distracted.”

Keith furrows his brow, trying to decipher her meaning, but the conversation drops. He’d had to untangle himself from Lance’s legs that morning before dragging himself downstairs for an early-morning training session. Lance certainly is still fast asleep now.

Keith returns to his food, reasonably assured Pidge and Hunk couldn’t possibly know all that.

  


* * *

  


When they form Voltron, Keith can feel Red. The iron-hot edge of his energy digs deep underneath Keith’s skin and it feels _good_. Something ignites there, every time, without fail. The Red Lion’s presence is the opposite of fear and Keith realizes that _God did he miss that_.

Keith makes decisions. Sometimes his decisions are right and sometimes they’re wrong.

  


* * *

  


The Red Lion takes a strong hit while they’re running a fleet of drones off an occupied planet. They’re not in formation but Keith feels it in his back, along his arms, and all the way down through his legs. The shot isn’t a devastating blow but hard enough to rattle his pilot. Keith feels it, even though Red is barely in his peripheral vision. The moment they’re back in the castle, Keith rushes Lance before he can step off the elevator and into the control room.

Startled, Lance yelps when Keith shoves him against the back wall. “You—” Keith says, voice hard, breathless, and accusatory. His hands run down either side of Lance’s waist, down to his hips and back up again. “Need to be more careful with my lion.”

“Woah, woah, whoa. Hold up there hotshot. Just, hey— Simmer down a little will ‘ya?” Lance’s hands are up in surrender. He’s laughing. The tension rolls off and Keith eases up, but he doesn’t remove his hands. The adrenaline fades and their pulses synch, breathing in and out. They’re close. Close as they were when—

“You wanna kiss me again,” Lance murmurs, lips drawing into a soft smile. He’s close enough that his breath fans across Keith’s face. It’s not a question.

“No…” Keith starts, “You wanna kiss _me_.”

Lance laughs a little at that, a breathless sound. “Nope. You definitely wanna kiss me.”

That’s all it takes. Lance smiles with his teeth and leans in to press against Keith’s lips. The kiss is quick, shallow, and he laughs a little when Keith chases his mouth back when he pulls away. They do it again. This time is calmer, looser, and more playful than the tentative one they shared amid the shadows of the Black Lion. This time it feels more real. More stable. Keith can taste Red, mingling somewhere deep down with the soft, assuring touch of Blue.

  


* * *

  


Lotor dips out of the radar more often than not. It bothers Keith. Things are quiet, too quiet, like the bottom is waiting to fall out. Things aren't remotely bad though, so this restlessness is all the more distracting. Keith doesn’t like it when he can’t control things. He doesn’t like it when things don’t fit.

Keith does like thrills. The problem is he’s bored.

“You need to chill man.”

Keith glares at Hunk, arms stubbornly folded over his chest. He hates diplomatic meetings and he shouldn’t have to pretend otherwise. “Are we _done_ yet?”

The party has been going for at least three hours. Lance is off socializing with strangers, Allura is in deep in conversation with the chancellor, and Keith has no clue where Pidge ran off to this time. He’d started following Hunk around the dessert table after the fourth Loelian child came and begged for an autograph from the Black Paladin. It’s not that Keith has a problem with kids, but he’s too uncomfortable with that title to hear it more than once in a short span of time. The whole thing has thrown him off. He’s probably supposed to be keeping up with everyone. So much for that. 

Hunk catches his eye and Keith looks away. He’s trying. He’s really trying to lead. And Hunk is really trying to help.

“Here, have some of this,” Hunk pushes an orange citrus-looking drink in front of Keith. “Relax and try to have a good time.”

Keith takes, downs it it in one go despite Hunk’s sudden protest. And it burns. Already a little dazed, he looks back to Hunk. “There’s liquor in this.”

“Yep. Yeah. Uh-huh. There is.” He looks a little panicked. “You weren’t supposed to drink the whole thing like that.”

  


* * *

  


Lance is restless too. 

Keith comes to his bed earlier now and doesn’t even bother to mess with his own any more. Tonight, he’d been a little forward, taking Lance by the wrist and pulling him into the bed when he was playing his video game for too long. Now Lance is twisting and turning in the dark. He shuffles around behind Keith’s back, his breathing shallow and huffy instead of calm and still. The atmosphere tonight is different. Something has shifted. Keith turns to face him just as Lance twists away again. He reaches over and grabs one of Lance’s hands, squeezes it, then pulls his arm over so Lance is laying on his back again. He laces their fingers together and gets Lance to look at him.

Keith might be a little drunk still.

Lance stares, his eyes wide, and lips parting. This feels natural but also so, so reckless. Maybe a little chaos was what they were meant for. Keith’s heart is pounding hard enough he swears he can feel it in his veins and this time Lance is the one who gives that tiny nod, a quiet acquiesce for Keith to pull forward and Keith takes a mile. He closes the space between them, kisses Lance all wet and sloppy, like being behind closed doors stripped away the last of his pretense. In-between each one Keith catches Lance’s face and he’s is so easy to read. He’s so eager to please, so willing to learn, and so hungry to be loved by someone. Keith’s muscles tense, he licks his lips, knowing that through all that Lance barely knows what he wants. This is the best bad decision Keith has ever made.

They fumble with each others clothes, uncertainty stripped away with the fabric and Keith pulls Lance on top of him, spreading his thighs so Lance’s knee lands between them. His tongue burns across Keith’s throat and he trembles — dumbly — melting beneath the touch. Won’t be long until Lance can see inside him, _through him_ , all the way down to the havoc that flows in his veins. Beneath the pillowy haze of alcohol and exhaustion, Keith lets him take everything. Lance is a river, violent rapids all through his current, and Keith can’t keep his head above water. They’re already far past the point of no return.

Lance mouths further down Keith’s throat, nipping at his collarbone and down his throat. Keith drags his hands through Lance’s hair, egging him on, sucking in cold air and grasping at the heat of Lance’s body. They’re both stripped down to their underwear and Lance is already hard, rutting into Keith’s hip without a sliver of shame. He pulls back and Keith tries to follow him. He lifts himself up on his elbows but a firm hand lands flat on his chest to push him back down.

“Lemme. Just a minute.” Lance’s voice is unusually firm. 

Keith forces himself to relax, and leaves Lance’s hand sprawled out over the center of his chest while repositioning himself between Keith’s legs. His other hand hooks behind Keith’s knee to pull it forward. He pushes his hips up against Keith’s ass and his eyes flutter shut. He does it again, and again. He finds a rhythm. They’re both breathing hard, sharp gasps punctuating the quiet room.

“Your eyes are doing that thing again,” Lance mumbles, brows drawn tight. He thrusts against Keith a little harder, his clothed erection sliding between Keith’s cheeks as much as it can restricted by two layers of fabric.

“What _thing_?” Keith pants, frustrated, his fingers grasping at the sheets.

“Mm,” Lance hums and licks his lips. “That thing. S’pretty hot.”

“I don’t,” Keith starts, the sound breaking into a soft groan. He’s annoyed and mad he can’t properly voice it. “I don’t know. What you’re _talking_ about Lance.”

Fingers dig a little deeper into the meat of Keith’s thigh. “Your eyes change,” Lance continues, the sound of the words weirdly casual. He leans forward, pushing Keith’s knee further toward his chest. “Little feral. Really weird. Kinda scares me.”

That gives Keith pause. He frowns and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We don’t have to—”

“No, no, no. You’re all right. No biggie,” Lance assures. He stretches himself forward and kisses Keith on the cheek. “I trust you, Chief.”

Keith can’t help but watch him. Lance is slow. Not reckless enough. He’s close enough now that Keith feels every intake of air and it’s both too much and hardly enough. “Lance,” he pleads, his name suddenly feeling new and strange on Keith’s tongue, “ _Please_. Do something.”

That ignites something. Lance drops Keith’s knee and starts tracing his skin with his tongue again. Better. Closer. He bites a little, has Keith rolling his hips and kneading the muscles on Lance’s back, his thighs pulling up around Lance’s waist. He trails his palms down Lance’s spine and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Lance’s boxers. Something unexpected happens then. Just as Lance’s breath hitches in Keith’s ear, there’s a soft push from Red. And it gets stronger. The bond broadcasts Lance’s pleasure, his fear, and just how much Lance wants him. How _long_ he’s wanted him.

Lance slips from his grasp, trails his tongue all the way down Keith’s stomach, soothes Keith with soft touches when his abdomen contracts, and Keith knows he’s a mess. By the time Lance is mouthing over his cock, Keith can sense every ounce of Lance’s desire and drive. Caught up in it, it’s overwhelming. Keith slams his own hand over his mouth to stifle a yell. 

Because… Lance can’t feel this?

He can’t feel Red’s bond pushing against them?

That doesn’t make any sense.

Keith makes stupid sound after stupid sound as Lance goes down on him. He’s not especially good at it but he’s not bad at it and the tendrils of his energy interfering with Keith’s own is doing _something_ to him. Keith lifts his hips so Lance can maneuver his underwear past his hips and Keith spreads his legs further, acting on instinct, when Lance’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock. Lance trails lower, lower, until pulling off long enough to wet his middle finger before setting back to work. He shifts until Lance’s wet finger slips inside him and Keith tangles a fist in Lance’s hair, pulling hard enough that Lance whimpers.

“Good. Yes that’s— Lance, please,” and his name feels so different when Keith speaks it now. He pulls louder, more desperate sounds from Keith. Lance answers him through the bond and Keith is trembling again. And again. “I’m gonna—”

Lance pulls off just as he releases, spilling across his stomach and back arching off the bed. He shudders, lets his head fall back, and digs his nails into Lance’s forearms. When he opens his eyes again Lance is giving him a goofy smile and Keith practically growls. “C’mere.”

Lance flops down on his side beside Keith, still smiling, giggling a little, and Keith reaches into his boxers without further preamble. He strokes Lance once and that dumb smile is gone, replaced by slack gasp and parted lips. The moment his brows knit tight together and eyes scrunch shut, Keith knows Lance won’t last longer than a couple minutes. Lance’s pleasure continues to echo beneath Keith’s skin. 

He gets Lance off twice more before morning. And he can feel it, all of it, and he still doesn’t understand why Lance can’t.

  


* * *

  


The night he finds Shiro, Keith is very focused. He's close to peace, the turmoil in his veins slowed down enough he can just _stop_. And for a minute, he does. After he's cleaned Shiro up, gotten him into clean clothes, given him water, and helped him into his bed, he wanders toward the kitchen. He passes Lance in the hallway.

“Hey, man,” Lance’s says, and they stop. He’s smiling but his eyes are tired.

Keith can feel him letting go. He can feel Lance stepping away. Deeper in the back of his mind Red is nudging Keith forward, urging him to close the space. But Red doesn’t belong to him anymore, does he? Neither does Black. For a second Lance looks as though he understands, but the thought falls away as soon as it comes. Something doesn’t make sense here. Something Keith can’t quite put his finger on.

And the intimacy is gone, a fleeting moment stretched over the course of months now swept away in a few hours. Keith isn’t sure where he went wrong. With Lance, it’s always like this. He takes a step with Keith and then he falls back. Or... does Keith just run ahead without him? He’s not always sure.

“Why me?” Lance asks as Keith turns to leave.

Keith stops, regarding Lance over his shoulder. He shrugs. “You were there.”

The answer is honest. The answer is simple. The answer means so much more than Lance believes. That much is clear in the cold silence that follows. But Keith doesn’t clarify, he doesn’t explain, feeling a need again to hold the words tight against his chest.

Maybe someday they’ll try again.

For now it’s easier this way. Keith doesn’t like saying goodbye.


End file.
